


oblivio deorum

by shakespork



Series: damnatis daemonium [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adult Dipper Pines, Adult Mabel Pines, Alternate Universe - Demons, Demon Summoning, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Sequel, Spells & Enchantments, Witches, Worldbuilding, illuminaughty, oh god so much worldbuilding, too many atla references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespork/pseuds/shakespork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "damnatis daemonium": Dipper has been spirited away to Gehenna, his family is scrambling to find him, and he's starting to suspect that something isn't quite right with Bill. Is everything as it seems? Or will he find himself an integral part of a grander scheme?</p><p>BETAed by the lovely Mara92!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok i was gonna post this after the summer when i'd written at least a coupla more chapters, but i feel like im the kind of mess of an author who'll just dump this here and run  
> i have written the entire plot out, and it's gonna span about 30-ish chapters???? hope i wont die lmao imma get there but its gonna b slow going and im so sorry T-T  
> enjoy ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

A massive marble throne sprawled at the end of the hall. Spears of stone jutted up from it, shooting into the ceiling and wrapping around the seat like snakes. The ornate carvings were gilded with gold, detailing scenes of past conquests and occupants. A thick velvet rug curled around it, spilling over the dais and onto the floor. It was every bit the vulgar opulence that it seated.

Lucifer looked down from his golden throne, eyes glinting in the shadows. The furs around his shoulders did little to conceal the jutting bones and the gaunt, starving form beneath them. The bruised hollows of his face leant him a high-strung look, and were terrifyingly human in their simplicity.  
He didn't need horns or wings or rings of fire around him to scare off the competition, because every single demon in that room knew what power lay under the fragile human disguise.

Cipheres grinned; his shoes clacked against the marble floor, the noise cutting through the hum as eyes turned to watch his approach.  
He stopped at the foot of the dais and dropped into a deep bow. “My Lucifer. I have brought you the Nullifier.”  
“So we hear.” Lucifer sniffed, and glanced up. “Where is it, then?”  
“It is at my palace, my Lord,” Cipheres replied smoothly. “Where it shall be kept complacent and containable.”

He didn’t look up, but he could almost imagine the grit of Lucifer’s teeth as he hissed, “That is not what we asked of you, Cipheres.” An agitated murmur rippled across the room, feeding off the tension. Lucifer continued; “Why have you not brought it here?”

“I,” Cipheres paused, licking his lips. “There is… a certain way in which a Nullifier must be used, sire. Bringing it to your palace would be… counterproductive to that cause.”

Ugh, how he hated this flowery language. Give him simple slang any day.

Lucifer remained silent. Finally, he asked, “And how will this Nullifier be used, then?”  
“Its power must be channelled through a vessel.” He inclined his head. “I… humbly… offer myself up for the job.”

Lucifer sniffed. “Tch, of course…”  
Cipheres stared up at him expectantly, gauging the emotions behind the demon’s furrowed brows and pinched expression. He could feel the tension in the air— could tell he was walking a very thin, very unstable tightrope, relying heavily on Lucifer’s good graces to get him through.

Said demon sighed and waved a hand, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Go. Do as you please.”  
Cipheres hid his grin, bowing deeply. “Thank you, my Lord.” He turned on his heel and strode back down the hall. The whispers around him grew louder for a moment, volatile and menacing.

“Oh, and, Cipheres?”

He stopped and turned, looking back. “Yes, my Lucifer?”  
Lucifer’s face was a mask, almost bored in its listlessness. His voice, however, was thrumming with danger. “Your efforts have served us well thus far.” He said, pausing to lick his lips. “You will be most unlucky if they fail us in the future.”

The voices around him snickered in sadistic glee. They were hoping for a bloodbath. Cipheres was determined not to make himself their prey. He bowed again with a tight smile; without another word, he turned and continued on his way out, the clacking of his shoes on the marble as loud as his pulse.

-/-/-

Mabel froze, her hair standing on end. Her grip tightened around the Journal in her hands. 

“Mabel?” Stan spoke, looking up from his armchair.

Mabel didn’t reply, her wide-eyed stare fixed somewhere far away. 

“Mabel, what’s wrong?” he asked, standing up and padding towards her. Her nose scrunched up and she squinted, like she was trying to pick something out of a cacophony. 

She whirled around, a wild glint in her eyes that put Stan on guard.  
“Something’s wrong.”

Stan balked. “What?”

“It’s Dipper,”she said. “Something’s wrong with Dipper.” Her voice lowered and her gaze grew distant again. “The charm, I felt it break, far away.” She looked up, one hand shoving the Journal into her coat and the other grabbing Stan’s arm. “We need to go. Now.” 

Stan sucked in a breath, calling out a, “Mabel, wait—!”, but she was already grabbing the amulet around her neck and _pulling_ , sucking both of them in with magic.

The world turned into a stomach-lurching swirl of colour, spiralling and twisting around them as even their physical forms blended with it. It ripped Stan apart, then pulled him back together again, all in one sickening split second.

Then, they were in the dark.

“Grunkle Stan, c’mon!”

He stumbled toward Mabel’s voice—somewhere to his right, his feet crunching through dry pine needles. Correction: they were in a forest. He could see the moonlight now, filtering through the branches.  
Mabel tugged on his shirtsleeves, guiding him through the murk. He didn’t know how she could see in the dark, but then again, there were a lot of things he didn’t know about her anymore.

A stray root tripped him up and he yelled out a curse as he went down, causing Mabel to squeak in surprise.

“Grunkle Stan?”

He groaned, rubbing his sore foot. Damn, he couldn’t even see his hands in this darkness. “I’m- I’m ok.”

A light flared up in front of him, warm and bright. He looked up, squinting against the little ball of flame that danced in Mabel’s palm. “You sure?” she asked with a tilt of her head. He nodded, wincing. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  
Stumbling back up, he looked back at the root that had tripped him; a grubby, sneaky little thing. He resisted the childish urge to kick it. 

Mabel nodded, grabbing his shirtsleeve again. He stumbled after her.  
“Right then.” she said, tugging. “C’mon.”

“Where are we even going?” he growled, watching his steps.

“The witches.” 

He jerked forwards. “What?”

“To the witches.” Mabel repeated, as the trees thinned around them. “They’ll… It’ll be fine.” Stan stopped. Mabel squeaked and stumbled back, hand still firmly attached to Stan’s unmoving arm. 

She twisted around, frowning. “What?” 

Stan stared at her, scrutinising her face. There was worry there, uncertainty too, and he didn’t like it. “What’s going on, Mabel?”

She huffed. “What? Everything’s fine! C’mon, let’s go.” She tugged at his sleeve, but he jerked it back, snapping. 

“No! Tell me.” He saw worry flicker across her face, and he narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t worry for him, no… “Mabel, what happened to Dipper?”

She said nothing, her eyes jumping over his face. Stan set his jaw and dug his heels into the ground. He wasn’t going to move until he had an answer. 

Mabel’s tense shoulders sagged, and she gave in.  
“He’s gone.” she whispered.

Stan froze. _“What?”_

“The charm,” she whispered. “It broke. I can’t feel him.” 

Stan sputtered. “Wh-wait— How does this- Why is this bad?” He frowned. “Doesn’t— Wouldn’t— What’s so bad about the charm breaking?”

Mabel swallowed. “It… It _can’t_ break, Grunkle Stan. It feeds off Dipper’s life-force.” She said. “It’d only break if he was…”

Stan gasped. “He’s _dead?_ ”

Mabel shook her head, floundering. “No! I’d— I’d sense his body if he was.” She looked into Stan’s eyes. “Grunkle Stan, Dipper’s _gone_ gone.”  
He’d never been more confused in his entire life. What did that even mean? Mabel must’ve seen it on his face, because she lowered her head and said, “Dipper’s not on our plane. He doesn’t exist.”

Everything in Stan screeched to a halt. No. _No._

He sat down on that same offending root that tripped him. If Dipper—on a different plane?— _That meant_ — “I don’t know how this could’ve happened.” Mabel cried, pulling at her hair. Her voice wavered. “My concealment charm should have worked! I—It was perfect! It was supposed to hide his powers!”  
Stan dropped his face into his hands. Everything was going so wrong. This is what they were afraid of happening, for God’s sake!

“It was supposed to keep him safe!” Mabel said.

Stan growled. It was that same, damn old argument. He stood up. “If we’d told him about the power from the start—”

“You know we couldn’t have!” Mabel cried. 

Stan threw up his hands. “Why not? If he’d known, he’d have—”

“What?” Mabel hissed, her worry dissipating into hurt anger. “He’d have stayed at home? Given up on his studying? Wasted his life away out of _fear?_ ”

“He’d have been _safe!_ ” 

“He _was_ safe!” Mabel yelled back. “I would’ve kept him safe!”

“ _But you didn’t!_ ” Stan roared, stepping up into her face. 

Mabel’s anger dissipated, deflating like a leather ball. Stan regretted his words almost as soon as he’d spoken them, clamping his jaw as if that would take them back. Mabel stepped back, hugging herself.  
Her eyes fell to the ground, aging and saddening with every second, before she finally whispered, “Yeah.”

Stan bit the inside of his cheek, regretting everything so much that it hurt. He stepped up closer, trying a, “Mabel, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean it that way.”

Mabel shook her head, still staring at the ground. “No,” she whispered. “You’re right. I didn’t keep him safe enough.” 

Stan shook his head, pulling her into a hug. “No, no, no, Mabel, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She relaxed into him, sniffling. He whispered, “I’m sorry. It was me who should’ve protected you both.”

It was so easy to forget how young both Mabel and Dipper were, with how they’d changed and grown all of a sudden. It was difficult, for him, to see the mostly-innocent eighteen-year-olds they were when they left and the confident adults they became when they returned. Especially Mabel… she was still as cheerful and carefree as ever, but now there was a constant undercurrent of something steely and rough to her. She’d changed so much in those two years. 

Too much.

Mabel hiccupped, and Stan realised with a jolt that she was sobbing against his shirt. His heart broke, and he hugged her tighter, patting her back. 

“I’m just—” Mabel sobbed. “I don’t know what to do, Grunkle Stan! I don’t know—” She froze, looking up. “What if—? Oh God, what if a Prince has him? What if _Lucifer_ has him!?”

She was shaking, her breath coming way too fast. Stan panicked, unhinged by the rapidly-worsening situation. Damn it all, he was an adult, but in name only! There was a damn reason he’d never had kids of his own. He grabbed her by the shoulders and levelled with her, catching her eye. 

When she wouldn’t look at him, he shook her, hissing, “Oi, oi, oi, Mabel! Mabel, c’mon, kid, look at me.”  
She swallowed and turned her head. Stan sighed, “There we go, that’s better. Now, Mabel, we’re gonna go, we’re gonna go and find the witches. Okay?”  
Mabel gave a weak nod, her bottom lip wobbling in a very concerning manner.  
“Where do we go, kid?” Stan asked instead, hands still fixed on Mabel’s shoulders.

Mabel swiped a hand under her nose, sniffed, jerked her head northwards, and whispered, “That-a-way.”

“Right,” Stan said, and started trudging forward. Mabel followed behind him, only coming up forward when Stan tripped on another stray root. The little flames in her hands wobbled and sputtered, but they seemed to solidify with her returning calm. She took a deep breath and surged on forward, through the gloom of the night.

They walked in silence, Stan picking his way through the winding undergrowth, following Mabel’s sure footsteps. The trees around them were thinning, growing spare and wiry as they approached the cusp of the forest. The cold was creeping in, too, as the moon climbed in the sky and the night deepened. Stan shivered. The back of his neck prickled with the feeling of eyes on them, but he shrugged it off, blaming his paranoia on their high-strung states. He’d lived half his life in a dense forest, damn it, and one more wouldn’t kill him. They stepped out into an expansive clearing, leaving the trees behind them, and Stan let out an involuntary sigh of relief. The village of Falls glowed in the distance, the little pinprick lights of frosted glass illuminating the valley.

Mabel picked up her pace, clutching her little light with both hands as she powered on. Stan jogged to keep up, picking out a trip-up-free path through the clearing. At least there weren’t any trees here, only dewy grass and low shrubbery.

“Grunkle Stan?”

Stan jerked out of his thoughts, his head snapping up to Mabel’s. She was looking straight ahead, gaze locked on the approaching village. Her nose was still red and blotchy, but strength was settling in her shoulders. He made a questioning noise, and she glanced back.

“Don’t…” she tried, biting her lip. “The Grandwitch - don’t underestimate her.” 

Stan frowned but nodded anyway, puzzling over Mabel’s words. Something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach, a heavy ball of dread. Sure, he’d never met the Grandwitch, but… God, all these damn magic users and spell-casters and whatnot. Damn it all. He sighed, rubbing his face. He was getting too old for this.

“Oh, and Grunkle Stan?”  
Stan looked up again, pausing in his stride.

“About that portal you needed…”

 

It took half an hour for him and Mabel to make it down to the Falls. The town was long settled in for the night by then, all the little houses warm and cosy in their neat rows. There were lamps hanging over the roofs, lighting up the main road down the village.

Mabel led him down to the very centre of the town, where, by the main courtyard, stood a lively little inn. All the windows were lit up, and there was obvious merriment going on inside. Horses milled about outside, tied to carved posts by the door. Mabel tugged him inside, ignoring his obvious confusion.

The doors swung open, and Stan was hit by a blast of warmth. 

He was really starting to get on in his old age, because it took him a few moments to recover from the sudden change in temperature. By then, Mabel had dragged him to the back of the inn, right up to the heavy kitchen doors. She stopped and turned around, squinting into the crowd.  
Her face lit up, and she threw an arm up into the air, waving frantically.

“Grenda!”

Stan turned to look in the direction of her stare, his eyes only widening when a large - large - girl approached them. Jesus, she looked as if she’d fought bears in the mountains. She probably did fight bears in the mountains. Stan didn’t know whether to be scared or impressed. 

“Mabel!” Grenda yelled, swallowing his niece up in a gigantic hug. 

“Grenda!” Mabel squealed back. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How are you?”

The two disentangled, launching into a long conversation about the past six months. Stan caught something about necklaces and sweets, but the rest was lost in their rapid-fire chatter.  
Just as suddenly, they stopped and turned to him, thoughtful looks on their faces. 

Grenda broke the sudden silence first; “Um, should I go get…?” Mabel nodded. “I’ll go. Can you bring my Grunkle to the study?”

“Yeah, sure.”  
Stan blinked, still trying to get himself into the moment. Grenda smiled and gave him a little curtsey. Stan thought that she’d meant for it to be cute, but instead it just brought her biceps into full view.  
Stan made up his mind.  
This girl scared _and_ impressed him.

“This way, Mr Pines.” Grenda said, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. 

The little fire-lit room he was brought to was on the second floor, tucked right into the back of the inn. The heavy wooden door was carved with intricate patterns, glowing in the faint light. Grenda motioned for him to wait by the desk in the corner, and then disappeared back into the dining halls downstairs.

Stan turned his back to the door, hands wandering over the heavy oak desk. The same patterns that graced the door were carved into the wood here too. Was it something to do with magic?

“Grunkle Stan?”

He whipped around, straightening his back in some attempt at formality. Mabel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  
She turned to the person beside her, motioning to Stan and saying, “Grandwitch, this is my great-uncle.”

Stan blinked, his eyes settling on the woman at Mabel’s side. Oh.

_Oh._

He distantly thought that, yes, he probably should have seen this coming. After all, the inn, the girls, the location… But that didn’t make it less shocking.

_“Lazy Susan?”_

Her one good eye twitched, and she growled, “That’s Grandwitch Wentworth to you, Stanley Pines.”  
Stan blanched. She stepped towards him, and he stepped back without thinking. 

Something in her expression fell. “Well,” she said. 

She stepped past him, stilling when he flinched again, before moving behind the desk and collapsing into her chair. Stan’s eyes tracked her movements, wide and unsure. Mabel was looking at them with a frown, trying to pick apart the obvious tangle of emotions between them. Susan sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Let’s get this over with.” She turned to Mabel. “Your brother, was it?” She waited for Mabel to nod before continuing. “When did you feel his charm break?”

“A few hours ago.” Mabel said.

Susan nodded. “Right, and you know what that means?”

Mabel’s shoulders hunched forward. She still felt like she’d failed.  
“They took him to Gehenna.”

She looked up to meet Susan’s disapproving gaze. Her face fell further. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry’s not going to save your brother, Mabel.” Susan bit out, and Stan frowned. Mabel seemed to wilt under the withering gaze of the Grandwitch, folding in on herself like a scolded child. This was an old argument, he guessed, but this seemed like a bit too much to be placing on the shoulders of a barely-grown girl. 

He stepped forward, growling, “It’s not her fault.”

Susan culled him with a single stern look.  
“No, it is.” she snapped. She turned back to Mabel, looking her in the eye but addressing Stan. “Mabel will be the most powerful witch of our age, and she must shoulder the responsibilities that come with it.”

Stan frowned again. “What?”

Susan continued, “As an Amplifier, it is her responsibility to protect the Nullifier.” She stopped, glaring at Stan. “Or, I should correct myself: Nullifiers, plural, because your brother decided that his ambition was more important than the balance of our plane of existence!” 

He was about to growl out a response when Susan leaned back into her chair, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.  
“But never mind that now,” she sighed, waving a hand. “Mabel, please hand me my maps.”

Mabel nodded and darted towards one of the far bookshelves, pulling out scrolls from the bottom. Stan’s glare was still fixed firmly on Susan’s face. He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself.

Susan continued on, as if nothing had happened. From the pile of Mabel’s scrolls, she pulled out a black one - it glowed in the lamplight, looking less like paper and more like obsidian and bone.  
With a single sweep of her hand,it was laid out for all of them to see, before it floated gently in the middle of the room. Stan was so amazed that he almost forgot his anger. He leaned in to see better; Mabel was doing the same, just being more discreet about it.

The map uncurled with a soft crackle, extending out much farther than expected. The largest feature there was a massive circle, drawn in white on the black surface, and carefully labeled - ‘The Plane of Erda’. 

Susan flicked her hand again, and another circle jumped of the page, morphing into a sphere midair. Stan gasped, stepping back. His eyes flickered over it, trying to process what was happening. The stars had come alive, light twisting into a celestial map and illuminating the room far brighter than the lamp could. What else could it be? Susan, of course, seemed far less amazed than everyone else in the room. Somewhere in his mind - the minority of it not preoccupied with the floating light globe - he was comparing this Susan to the one he used to know. The similarities were non-existent.

Susan coughed.

Stan shut his mouth, only now realising that it was hanging open.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mabel do the same. 

“The flat plane is the map of Erda,” Susan began, pointing at the circle still fixed onto the black surface. “That is where we are now.” She motioned towards the floating globe next. “And _that_ , is the map of Gehenna.”

So it was. Stan squinted, catching the words ‘ _The Plane of Gehenna_ ’ leisurely circling around the globe.

Susan twisted her hand again, and two bright little stars appeared on both maps, highlighting a location. “That’s out exact location, and the one on Gehenna is the location of Lucifer’s palace,” she said. “Now, my dear students, can you tell me the most apparent problem with us being here and our Nullifier being _there?_ ”

Mabel stepped forward. “We need a portal.”

“Correct,” Susan nodded. “Do we have one?”

“Yes, actually, we do,” said Mabel, pulling the Journal out of her coat. Stan had forgotten it was there. Mabel stepped up and deposited it into Susan’s hands, opening it up to a certain page.

Susan raised an eyebrow. “So we do.” She snapped the book shut, looking up at Mabel. “Do you know what we need?”

Mabel nodded.

“Then you know what to do,” Susan said, handing the book back to Mabel, who noded again–with a curtsey this time. She murmured a quick promise to be back as soon as she could, hurrying out of the room with her gaze fixed on the floor.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Stan standing alone, head turned toward the door. It remained shut.

He turned back to Susan. The anger rose in his gut.

Susan looked up at him, sighing. She turned around in her chair, letting the map continue to spin and flicker between them. “I suppose you’d like to talk,” she said.

Stan nodded, clenching his jaw tighter to avoid saying something rash.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “What the hell was that back there?”  
Okay, maybe the jaw thing wasn’t helping.

“Stan,” Susan rolled her good eye. “What do you want me to say?”

He stepped forward. “A ‘sorry’ would be a good start.”

“Is this about Mabel?” she said. “Because if it is, then I need you to back off. She is my student.”

“She’s _my niece!_ ”

He was fuming. Susan stared at him and said nothing. Stan huffed, stepping back a little and clenching his fists into tight balls.  
Breathe, Stan, breathe. 

“Okay,” she said at last. “Okay. Yes, I was a little harsh-”

Stan raised his eyebrow. A little?

“-But it was necessary. And don’t give me that look!” she bit out. “Mabel’s got a lot on her plate, and this is a truly great mess she’s made for herself. She needs to learn some responsibility.”

Stan growled. “Responsibility? You’re the Grandwitch, you’re supposed to be the responsible one!”

“ _I’m_ not the Amplifier!” she hissed back. “I’m just a witch. I don’t have the _power_ to protect you or the new Nullifier.”

Stan walked around, circling the floating map and turning towards the tall shelf of books.  
“And do we really need protection?”

“Yes,” she said simply, to which Stan huffed.

“Why?”

Susan stood up and walked over to where he stood, turning to face the bookshelf. The map glowed behind them, casting their faces into shadow. Stan turned to look at her, a frown etched onto his face.

“Do you know what the roles of Amplifiers and Nullifiers are?” she began quietly.

Stan snorted. “To keep balance, I know.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “And do you know what happens when that balance is broken?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Four centuries ago, an Amplifier was taken from Erda to Gehenna, and they died there. They were from a particularly powerful pair, much like Mabel, and their Nullifier twin could not control their power. Do you know what happened?”

Stan frowned.

Susan turned back to face the map. “The Nullifier continued to consume the magical power of everything around themselves, like a sinkhole consumes sheep. The result was a horrific imbalance in power, which led to the absence of magic for seventy years-”

Stan realised it then. The twelfth century.

“-Erda forgot about magic, forgot about spells and charms and anything of the spirit. Until the new twin pair was born.” Susan continued. “Then, magic flooded back into the world, but because it had been seventy years since anyone had seen it, nobody knew quite what to do. People were scared.” She looked at Stan. “Do you know what happened then?”

“The witch hunts,” he breathed.

Susan nodded. “Yes.” Her eyes were fixed on the maps. “Thousands killed by witless mobs, just because some of us could cast spells again.” Her gaze hardened. “This must never be repeated. We must never let something like this happen again.”

She walked away, sliding back down into her chair and turning towards the door. Stan stared after her, trying to process this information.

“But...” he said. “Won’t I balance Mabel out? Without Dipper?”

Susan raised a slender eyebrow. “You _want_ to leave your nephew in Gehenna?”

“No!”

“It wouldn’t work anyway.” Susan shook her head. “Mabel and her twin are far more powerful than you and your brother ever were. That is why she can balance out both of you without too many problems.” She shrugged. “Yes, we see a little less magic than there was twenty years ago, but it’s not such a big difference.”

“Right,” said Stan. He stepped forward, looking at Susan through the floating map. 

Susan looked up at him, pursing her lips. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

_Yes. How much you’ve changed. Were you always like this?_

“No.”

“Good,” she said, standing up and with a clap, the globe collapsed down into the scroll. Stan flinched, his eyes flashing with the sudden absence of light. 

“I need you to do something. You needed this portal to find your brother, correct?”

Something clenched tight in Stan’s gut. Yes. With all this madness going on, he’d let it slip his mind. “Yes.”

“Then we will find him too.” Susan nodded. “I said I didn’t mind the power imbalance, but perfect balance is still preferable.” She added, “Plus, it feels rotten. Leaving one of our own there.”

One of our own? Stan allowed himself a small smile.

“Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself.” Susan snorted. “I’m not doing this because I like him. He’s an Amplifier, and Mabel would benefit from having someone like him around.”

He shrugged. Small victories, after all, right?

“Anyway,” she continued. “The portal. We will need help, once we are in Gehenna. Did your brother leave any sign of whom he was working with when he built the first portal? I can’t imagine he did it on his own.”

Stan thought for a moment, frowning. “There is someone.”

“Good. Where?”

“... The Brotherhood.”

“Drat.” Susan sucked in a breath, closing her eyes in pain. “Can you get to them?”

“Not sure.”

“Well, try. We’ll need them.”

Stan frowned. “Why?”

She gave him a look and a smile. “I may know demonkind, honey-cheeks, but the Brotherhood knows them even better!” Her voice was sugar-sweet, and so familiar Stan shuddered. She schooled her expression back into neutrality, and continued; “Can you go now?”

He looked over his shoulder, back at the door. “Now?” Susan nodded.

Stan sighed, and nodded too. She smiled, and flicked her wrist; a small scroll came flying towards her. Stan flinched, but held his ground this time, getting used to all this damn magic around him. She pressed it into his hands, and he unfurled it, seeing that it was a map.

“Now,” she said, pushing him towards the door with a smug smile. 

Everything was coming together.

 

 

 

The wind blew cold, stinging every bit of visible skin on him. He squinted into the distance, trying to pick out his destination, but whatever light there’d previously been had been swallowed by the murk of the forest. This one, at least, felt better than the one they’d first appeared in. Stan didn’t know how to explain it. He just felt more grounded now, like there was a wall around him.  
Huh, probably was.  
This was the Brotherhood’s mountain, after all.

He stopped, brought up the lantern and looked down at his map. Yes, he was sure he was following the right path. The North Star hung to his right, and the mountain loomed up in front of him. He’d be there soon. The entrance to the mountain, when he found it, was just as small and decrepit as he’d been picturing it.

He has to knock – actually – knock, before a scurrying, robbed warden unlocked the door with a clank of heavy keys.

“I’m looking for the Librarian.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We visit Dip and his drama
> 
> oh boy what is time management am i right lads
> 
> WAIT! FIRST; Thank u so much to the lovely, amazing readers & commenters (i have 180+ in my inbox and i love them all!!! *o* ) I'm really sorry about not replying, but b/w trying not to reveal any plot points and my inability to write smth more coherent than "asdfghhkadgudsoigsahorf8fvoj34bi AAAAAAAA THANK U SWEET BEBE" ive not written any replies TT-TT

Once again, Dipper woke up to a lonely silence.

He didn’t mind it too much, at first.  
The room Bill had put him in was beautiful - high alabaster walls gilded with golden leaves at their crowns, sturdy wooden panels lying under plush velvet rugs, illuminated by hanging chandeliers that he was pretty sure were lit with magic. The salon was decked out in soft armchairs and sofas, bookshelves lining the walls; the bathroom was all burnished bronze and marble; the bedroom was a breath of opulence and home-like warmth all at once. He didn’t complain, couldn’t even. There wasn’t a lack of comfort, or food, or books. Everything he’d wanted simply appeared for him, sometimes very literally - he’d wanted parchment and ink, and he’d left the room for only a moment and came back to find them stacked neatly on a table. He hadn’t heard anyone come in, or leave. It freaked him out a little at first, but he’d put it down to magic and had gotten used to it.

But… sometimes, the quiet got to him. Sometimes, even books couldn’t detract his burning need to talk to someone, and have someone talk to him. Back in the Falls, in the Shack, talking to someone was more of a chore, precious time stolen away from his research, but now… It wasn’t like he could look out a window, or hear any sounds beside the fire crackling in the hearths - the rooms had no windows. For safety, Bill had said, but Dipper missed the wind and the smell of the summer air.

He decided to get up before his thoughts go any more dramatic.

Hours later, Bill had found him in the bath.

Dipper was dozing, head all pillowed by the billowing foam. It was the smell that made him sleep – soft lavender and chamomile, like Mabel’s garden back home. One whiff and he was out like a light, his long limbs afloat in the ever-warm water.

When a soft laugh tickled his ear, he’d scrunched his nose and groaned, eyes shut stubbornly against the waking world.

The same laugh lilted, “Pine Tree…”

He groaned again, the noise morphing into a moan as firm hands came up to rub at the muscles of his neck and at the sensitive skin under his jaw.  
“Wake up, Pine Tree.”

Dipper only leaned his head back into those arms and opened his eyes, a smile already on his face.Bill grinned back, a playful glint in his eye that colored his whole expression.

“Wide awake now?” he asked.

Dipper hummed out an affirmative, and Bill dropped his hands lower, kneading the muscles of Dipper’s shoulder.

His voice was light when he said, “Up for some fun?”

Dipper’s heart picked up its pace, waking him up faster than anything. He breathed in and sat up, a grin creeping onto his face.

Bill hummed at that, pulling Dipper up. “Let’s get you out of the bathwater then.”

They kissed while Bill pulled him out and towelled him dry. Dipper let him, less because he was still drowsy and more because he wanted to enjoy having someone here. Bill’s hands were warm on his hips, his thighs, in the locks of his hair, and he drank in that warmth, his own hands carding through the silk of Bill’s new vest. Not really a vest, though – Bill dressed weird here, all asymmetrical lines and detailed embellishments that seemed to move and shift as Bill did. Whenever Dipper looked too closely at it, his head would swim and he’d have to take a deep breath to focus on standing up straight.

 

Sometime after that, they ended up in the master bedroom, the towel abandoned in one carpeted corner and most of Bill’s weird clothes scattered on the floor.

Dipper lay caged under Bill’s arms, lax and content to let Bill bite and nuzzle at his neck. The golden canopy of the bed above them made the light dance and reflect dazzling stars and sunspots into his eyes. Bill bit him a little too hard, and Dipper hissed, hands coming up to claw through Bill’s golden curls.

A hand flitted down Dipper’s stomach and snaked between his legs, and he lifted his hips up with an appreciative sigh. Bill’s grin was wolfish as he crawled down the expanse of Dipper’s stomach, nipping and biting all the way. Dipper sighed, surrendering to the hazy pleasure building in his gut, hands fisting in the plush bedsheets beneath him.

He couldn’t see Bill - the canopy of the bed was like a kaleidoscope, trapping him endlessly in its golden swirls and spirals - so when Bill licked a firm line up his cock, he choked on a moan and arched up into the sensation. If anything, the blood rushing down only made him feel dizzier, lax and lazy and physically drained.

He writhed as Bill continued, his breath catching in his lungs every time the demon’s tongue curled around his shaft and dipped into the leaking tip, catching precum steadily beading there. Bill worked with little appreciative noises and defined slurps, sucking down Dipper’s cock with all the gusto of a wanton whore, and it was enough to drive Dipper crazy.

He had to – had to, now, or – he pushed a hand into Bill’s hair, pushing him off his cock and giving Dipper space to breathe.

“I was—was gonna—,” he tried, but Bill only smiled in understanding, pulling himself back up the bed to peck at Dipper’s cheek.

“Didn’t want to end the fun just yet?” he said.

Dipper nodded, too out of breath to do much else. Bill pecked him on the cheek again, before bending down to kiss his neck and run his hands up and down Dipper’s sides. He left raised red lines behind, but Dipper didn’t care, the sensations only adding to his pleasure and streaking straight to his groin.

Bill pulled back, smiling gently. “You are so beautiful like this.”

The words pulled at something warm in Dipper’s chest; he covered his face with his hands, hiding his blush and shaking his head. Bill snorted at that.

“It’s true,” he said, nuzzling against Dipper’s neck, peppering the skin with kisses. His hand drifted down, wrapping around Dipper’s cock and giving it a few pumps. “The prettiest red skin in all Gehenna.” Dipper squirmed, and Bill thumbed at his cock’s slit. “The prettiest freckles in all Erda.” He hooked his arm behind Dipper’s knee, hiking it around his hip and opening him up like a lock. “And the prettiest little ass in all the planes.”

The sweet red haze built as Bill’s fingers pushed into Dipper, driving any hesitation out of his thoughts. He groaned at the intrusion, his legs spreading wider and making Bill smile in return. He loved it when Bill smiled, all sharp teeth and pearly whites and his lips pulled tight until Dipper wasn’t sure if he was still smiling or not. He didn’t care. Bill was… Bill was whispering, something, in his ear and Dipper didn’t really catch what he was saying but it sounded nice so he supposed he was fine and then there was a push and Dipper was lost.

He must’ve cried out, because Bill slowed down; took his time to kiss at the column of Dipper’s throat and murmur a few kind words in his ear, nibbling gently on the shell and making Dipper shiver. The bed sheets underneath him were silk-soft, and Bill’s face above him was wreathed in a halo of light.

Dipper realised that Bill was already inside him, his thrusts insistent and puncturing, coiling pleasure tighter and tighter in Dipper’s gut until he was breathless. Did that happen faster than it was supposed to? Because, actually, Dipper didn’t mind. His thoughts were stuck on the building heat, the sparks, the golden canopy above him, and most of all, the haze – the sweet, warm mist building up in his head, until all he could remember was the first time he met Bill. The marmalade sweetness of the aphrodisiac sliding down his throat and pooling in his gut, heating him up and bringing him more peace than he’d ever felt in his life. He could remember that feeling – addictive, soft, enough to beg for – and couldn’t remember much else about that time, but that was fine, because he still had that haze—

He came undone, and Bill released a shout above him, his grip tightening around Dipper’s legs until it _hurt_.

His head cleared, and he sucked in a lungful of cool air, feeling it creep into his mind and hand him back his senses.

The canopy above his head stopped glittering. It was just yellow.

He stared at it, frowning. Why did he think it was gold?

Bill sat back on his heels, his chest barrelling as he tried to get his breathing in order. He gave Dipper a sideways look, and leaned in, kissing a trail up Dipper’s sweaty stomach.

“You okay, kid?” he whispered, puzzled at Dipper’s expression.

Dipper’s eyes flickered down, and he shook his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, I’m just… I’m out of it.” He laughed at his own scatter-brained thoughts, running a hand through his mussed hair. 

Bill only smiled up at him, and the acid pit in Dipper’s gut quietened. All discomfort that he didn’t realise he was feeling suddenly vanished.

Of course it would, with Bill smiling at him like that. Bill loved him, with all of his tender gestures and lovely words and his quiet, silent guardianship. He was protecting him, and Dipper trusted that. He could stand a little bit of loneliness in exchange. For Bill, he’d stand anything.

As usual, Bill gathered up his clothes and left with a playful smile, locking the door behind him. Dipper debated whether he should ask why Bill did that again - _Why can’t I leave? – It’s for your own safety, darling_ \- but he was feeling like a broken record by now, just falling into acceptance. He gave Bill a gentle wave and a smile, and said nothing as the door clicked shut.

 

And that’s how most of Dipper’s first few weeks went; food, sleep, sex and boredom. Most twenty-somethings would dream of this kind of life, free of obligation, responsibility and steeped in hedonism. Dipper had dreamed of it too, but it was killing him.

But, one day, something changed.

The door was left open.

 

He didn’t understand what had him bothered at first - he’d said goodbye to Bill, swallowing down the usual question, and then lay back down on the bed, listening to Bill’s footsteps pad out and away. The silence stretched, unbroken, while Dipper lay and tried to figure out why there was a frown etched on his face and discomfort piling in his gut. He sat up, leaning on one arm and staring at the door to the bedroom, when it finally clicked: he hadn’t heard the door lock.

He stood up and padded out, peering around at the door and finding it that slight bit ajar - a breezy centimeter or two away from the thick mahogany door frame, looming.

Dipper’s frown deepened, and he walked up to it, setting his hand on the warm wood. He was about to push it shut, when - No. Go out. 

Dipper swallowed.

Go out. This was a chance to leave, to explore. The outside called to him, the sudden freedom intoxicating. Wait, no, it wasn’t really freedom, was it? Bill wasn’t keeping him prisoner, he was a guarded guest. This was… an expansion. A growth of his allotted space.

His hand dropped to the door handle, and he pulled.  
Stop. No. He shouldn’t do this. Bill said there was a reason he had to stay here - safety, protection. It wasn’t safe. 

But this was Bill’s house, wasn’t it? Dipper could see the hallway outside, could hear its empty spaces, so it wasn’t like they were floating in some abstract spiritual cosmos apart from the physical world. Bill was just being extra careful, Dipper supposed. 

He put his hand on the door and pushed. It swung wide, gliding noiselessly along the marble floor outside until it slowed down and came to a shushing stop by the wall.  
It gaped open like a hungry mouth.

He stepped out into the hall, and suddenly felt his ears popping, as if he’d just surfaced out of a pond and saw that the watery reality was only a reflection of its true value. He felt that, accompanied by a swift pitch of dread.

He looked left, then right, the hallway stretching into a gloomy infinity either way; other passages branched off like arteries in a silent body, too quiet to be something real and human. Even the air tasted stale, dusty, like a forgotten book left on its shelf. 

The feeling of dread increased.

He padded out into the hall, staying within the confines of the light pouring from his room. It was cold here, too, and he shivered in his thin shirt. There was dust under his feet, sticking to his skin and sliding gently around him. 

Right. He would go to the right.

“You can do this,” he whispered to himself, and took one step out into the dark.

Nothing happened.

“Okay,” he whispered again. He swallowed down his nervousness, and took another step. Nothing happened. 

Courage built up within him, and soon he was walking down the hall, keeping a hand trailing along the wall beside him. He counted the lamps, little glowing carafes that flickered lightly whenever he passed, so as to not get lost. He wouldn’t go down any side halls just yet, just to play it safe. 

Even so, when he looked back, he couldn’t see the light from his room anymore. The hall had curved, ever so slightly, and the walls sloped away from him. Was he going in a circle?

“You must be Cipher’s little human pet.”

Dipper screeched like a squealing wheel and jumped, his heart shooting up into his throat and then falling back down to his gut. He whipped around to find the source of the sudden voice, and his eyes landed on a small, plump little man in blue and white, standing smack-bang in the middle of the hall.

Where had he come from? Why hadn’t Dipper heard him?

Said man raised an eyebrow, laughing politely, “Oh, did I scare you? So sorry about that.” He walked over to where Dipper stood, bowing curtly and sticking out a hand. “I am the demon Gamigin, of Gehenna.” He grinned. “But you may call me Gideon.”

Dipper looked down at the hand, then back at the small man. Danger?

The man sighed, “Oh please, I’m not going to hurt you.” He shook his outstretched hand, smiling.

Dipper bit his lip, and finally made up his mind, letting his limbs relax away from their protective positions in front of his chest. This man didn’t look dangerous - didn’t exude the same oppressive feeling that Bill could. Plus, Dipper was pretty sure he could outrun the man if it came to it. His legs were longer. Still, he wouldn’t touch him. 

“Dipper,” he said, nodding curtly.

“Dipper?” Gideon smiled, showing off a row of perfectly white teeth. He pulled back his hand, a little put out. “Charming name, quite charming. Are you lost here?”

Dipper bit his lip, unsure. Finally, he said, “Yes. A little.” He looked back down the hallway, sighing. “I’m trying to find Bill— I mean, Cipheres.” 

He turned back to Gideon, to find the man studying him thoughtfully.

Dipper squirmed. “What?”

“Boy, you must be giving Cipheres a real hell of time, aren’t you?”

Dipper started. “Sorry?”

Gideon walked around him, continuing on without noticing what Dipper had said. “I mean, Cipheres put all he had into the wards for that room, yet you had no problem getting through them.”

Dipper frowned. Wards?

Gideon shrugged, closing his eyes in resignation. “But I mean, you _are_ the Nullifier, so I hardly think you even noticed them.” He started walking away, waving absent-mindedly to Dipper. “Well, never mind that now. You’ll find Cipheres if you keep heading down the hall that-a-way. Good luck with your search.”

“Wait!” It was out of Dipper’s mouth before he’d even noticed it, and he balked for a second, thinking furiously. He should head down the hallway now, find Cipher and then… Then what? Have some more fun? Demand some answers? But there was a man – demon – right here, and he was giving Dipper more answers than anyone else had in weeks; so Dipper made up his mind there and then.

“Please, wait.” he said again, sighing in relief when Gideon stopped.

Dipper didn’t see Gideon’s grin.

“What wards?” Dipper asked. “And what is a Nullifier?”

Gideon turned around, smiling sweetly. “Hmm?” He eyed Dipper gleefully. “You don’t know?”

Dipper frowned. “Know what?”

Gideon walked up to him in a few short seconds and circled him with interest. “That you’re one of the most powerful Nullifiers the human world has seen in centuries.”

Dipper shook his head, sighing, “Again, what is a Nullifier?”

Gideon stopped, looking Dipper straight in the eye. “A Nullifier is someone who has the power to block, repel and neutralise the magical power of others.”

“And I’m… _that?_ ”

Gideon nodded. “Oh, yes, most definitely. Cipheres wouldn’t have wasted his time with anything else.” He paused. “Sorry, any _one_ else.” He giggled. “Keep forgetting you humans are so particular with your pronouns and all.”

Dipper’s thoughts raced to absorb this new information. He pushed it away for now, focusing on the second part of his questions.

“What about what you said before? The- the wards?”

Gideon nodded sagely, resuming his walk around Dipper. “Oh, yes, complex things, they are. Took Cipheres nearly three days to cast them all and test them.” He sniffed. “I think he’ll be mighty upset when he finds out you’ve broken through them.”

“And these wards… what do they do?”

Gideon shrugged nonchalantly. “Block access, keep a separate time loop; the usual, I believe.”

“Time loop?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Gideon snapped. “Yes, human, a time loop.” He looked at Dipper. “How much time have you spent in those rooms?”

Dipper bit his lip, frowning. “A-a week, or two, maybe? I haven’t been counting well.”

Gideon burst out into giggles, his nose scrunching up into something ugly. “Two weeks?” He slapped his knee. “Oh, boy, Cipheres must be losing his touch. Two weeks! The amount of energy he used to cast those wards, he must’ve been hoping for years – a few months, at least.” He snorted. “Two weeks… Oh, you crack me up, human.” He looked up thoughtfully. “That does say something about your powers, though, human. Very interesting.”

Dipper’s frown grew deeper and deeper, matching the swirling pit of discomfort brewing in his gut.  
“But… why would he want to put me in a, in a time loop?”

“Oh, you stupid human.” Gideon sighed, face twisting into pained pity. “Well, I really shouldn’t be explaining fishing to the fish, I guess, but I want to have some fun now, so I’ll indulge you.” He slowed down, leaning into Dipper’s space. “Cipheres is probably hoping that the longer you spend with him, the more easily you’ll let him harvest your powers. Oh, don’t look so offended, what else were you thinking?” He stopped, his grin growing as he saw the hurt in Dipper’s face. “Oh. Oh, how tragic. You thought he actually loved you, didn’t you?”

Dipper stood stock still in shock. Who did this little shit think he was?  
He hissed, in his best impression of Grunkle Stan at his meanest, “Oi, watch it!”

Gideon sniffed, unfazed by Dipper’s human anger. “There is no need for rudeness, young man. I am only telling the truth.”

“Yeah, right!” Dipper snapped, turning on his heel and striding down the hallway, back from where he came. Seriously, were all demons so presumptuous and nasty?

Gideon called after him, his voice flat, “What incentive would I have to lie?”

“You’re a demon, that’s what demons do!” Dipper yelled back, his feet moving  
faster in hurt and rage.

“And then what is Cipheres?”

But Dipper was too far down the hall to answer back.  
The question chased him all the way back to his room, and far into the roiling night. 

 

“Dipper?”

Bill leaned over him, warm and solid as ever, frowning down at him in confusion. His breath was a little irregular from sucking bruises into Dipper’s throat, his hair falling into his eyes. Dipper glanced down at him instead of staring at the ceiling. The room was dark and warm, familiar in a repetitive way.

“Hmm?”

Bill’s frown deepend. “Is everything alright?”

Dipper propped himself up on his elbows, suddenly nervous. “Uh, yeah! Yeah. Sorry.”

Bill smiled. “Okay.” He bent down again and started kissing down Dipper’s sternum, humming as he went.

“Actually,” said Dipper, before he could lose his nerve. “I, uh - please don’t get mad - I went outside the room the other day.”

Sudden tension crackled in the silence that followed.

“What?” It was flat and sharp, accompanied by a spark of anger in Bill’s eyes that made Dipper queasy.

Dipper shrunk back. “Sorry…”

“Did you meet anyone?” Bill said, pushing up and leaning over Dipper.

“Yes…?” Dipper said quietly. When Bill didn’t say anything, Dipper explained hesitantly. “He was, um, he said his name was Gideon? Or Gamgee or something--”

“Gamigin.”

“Yeah.” Dipper swallowed, and sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. “He said I was a… a Nullifier?”

Bill hissed, and Dipper shrunk back ever further. A yawning pit of hurt opened up somewhere in Dipper’s chest, stinging until Dipper’s throat constricted.  
The angry haze in Bill’s gaze seemed to draw back, with a clear struggle, his expression trying to drag itself back into placid calmness.

“I’m sorry, Dipper,” Bill said finally. His voice was flat and uninflected.

Dipper just stared at him, trying to judge his next move or intention.

Bill sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, and some of his usual emotion seemed to seep back into him. He looked tired and weary.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again. “Just… Gamigin is not an ally of mine. He is not to be trusted.”

 _Are you to be trusted?_ The thought was so sudden that Dipper startled, jerking minutely. Bill didn’t notice. Dipper pushed the thought away.

“So I’m not a Nullifier?” said Dipper, working through the tightness in his throat. The sound of his voice after such a long silence was quiet and jilting.

Bill stared. “No.” He shook his head. “Well, yes. Sort of.” He rubbed his face again. “Please, just, let’s discard this thought, alright?”

Dipper watched him, frowning. The thought of trust still pestered him, curdling with every word Bill said.

“Alright,” Dipper conceded, but in his head, his confusion raged: Bill was different. His gentle, beloved lover was changed in some way by the place they were in, growing both distant and uncomfortably intimate. Dipper could smell a fake from a mile away, and dealing with cryptic parascientists and cults only sharpened those senses. Why was Bill, so earnest before, now lying to him? 

Bill looked into his eyes for a long time, boring into Dipper, frustration showing up in minute flecks over his face. Dipper’s head began to ache.

He pushed himself up and out of the cage of Bill’s arms, sliding off the bed and walking away.

“Dipper?” said Bill.

“Let’s not do this tonight, Bill.” Dipper said back. “I’m tired.”

Dipper pulled on a discarded shirt and walked into a neighbouring room, not really wanting to see Bill’s face right now. His chest hurt like something bitter, putting needling pressure on his throat until he realised that he really wanted to cry. 

Where had the emotion come from?

Dipper wiped away the tears hastily, angry at the sudden spill of confusing emotion. Why was he so upset? Because Bill had scared him a little? Because he neglected, just that once, his usual kindness? Was Dipper so coddled and used to undying affection that a bit of anger on Bill’s part was enough to so seriously hurt him?

Was he so weak, so self-absorbed, to make this all about his hurt feelings? Disgust roiled in his gut. He’s made Bill angry, his actions led to this; he shouldn’t have gone outside the room, he should’ve trusted Bill more, he should’ve listened to him after all the things that Bill had done for him. Self-loathing continued to heap, but still, the hurt wasn’t stopping.

Dipper took a deep breath, wincing when it came in wet and quavery. 

Come on, calm down, Dipper. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. You can do this.

Alright. The ache in his chest was subsiding already, washed away by the tears. He wiped them away and sniffed again, smiling weakly. Mabel was right - a good cry did help.

He sucked in another breath, and another, until he didn’t feel so fragile anymore.

 _Think, Dipper, think._ Emotions had a rational explanation. Why was he crying?

He frowned, and thought about the half-hour that had just passed, and then it dawned on him.

Anger sizzled in his chest. He was upset because he was angry, and he was angry because he was sad and hurt by what Bill had so carelessly tried to conceal from him.

Bill was _lying to him._

He was _lying_ and thinking that Dippet wouldn’t catch it. Dipper, who’d worked out how to make Greek Fire almost by himself, who’d succeeded in finding a secret organisation and gaining entry to it before he was twenty-one, whose pastimes included discovering people’s secrets for the kicks of it all. He didn’t really engage in self-congratulatory behaviour that much, but right now, Dipper was fucking _enraged_ by the fact that Bill, someone whom Dipper loved and trusted and was loved by in return, could think even for a second that he could so blatantly lie to Dipper’s face and not get caught.

Fucking _unbelievable_. 

He curled his hands into fists, letting the bite of his nails bring him back.

Whatever Bill was lying about, Dipper was determined to find out. Of course he loved Bill, and his heart broke at this blatant display of trickery, but he couldn’t trust him until he knew the truth. His curiosity pushed him forward, wanting to know exactly what Bill was hiding from him, and how Gamigin was connected.

Dipper snorted. Just thinking about the pudgy demon made his stomach sour. Gamigin was a liar too, he was sure of it.

But.

_But._

His lies sounded very well thought out. And as false as they were, they’d still made Bill stutter. There was something strange going on there.

At this point, two things Dipper knew for sure; one, he was the Nullifier, whatever that meant. Bill’s reaction couldn’t have done more to confirm it. And two, he was going to use this power to break out of the room and find out everything he could about Bill.

 

When he came back into the bedroom, Bill was gone, the bed sheets still warm and rumpled from his bodyweight. The clothes, however, were gone, and the door in the hallway was shut and cold.  
Dipper was angry, but he still sat down on the bed, pressing his nose into the warmth and inhaling Bill’s scent. It was heavy and familiar, making his gut clench sweetly and stir amongst the lead-like weight of hurt in his chest.

Why was Bill lying to him? This time the question made Dipper’s eyes prickle. He exhaled a soggy breath and stood, unwilling to drop back down into the emotional mess of crying again.

Right.

He could do this.

He stared at the door at the far end of the hallway.

Power crackled in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you to all the lovely people who've commented!! I've read them all, thrice, and tbh they r the light of my day omg


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan's mini-vacation at The Library.

The old doorman - or Brother Warden, as the man insisted Stan call him - led him down deep into the crypts, into the heart of the mountain. The walls got steadily closer, the passages darker, and the air grew stale and ancient. If Stan wanted, he could stick his tongue out and taste long-gone time on his tongue.

Or dust.

Probably dust. They both tasted the same, anyway.

 

He didn’t question Brother Warden’s lack of hesitation in leading him down, or the lack of guards of any kind all the way down into the depth’s of the Brotherhood’s headquarters - he let what was happening happen. Life motto. Great way to live. He was determined to keep living it, even through this madness.

They reached what appeared to be a great cavernous hall at the very center of the complex, but Stan wasn’t sure: there was smoke pouring from the huge oak doors that led into the hall, and the cacophony of panic and mayhem raged behind the thick wood. Stan stuttered to a stop.

Brother Warden approached the doors, and turned to Stan, completely unfazed by what was happening. Stan’s confusion deepened.

“Is this… the Library?” he tried, frowning.

Brother Warden shook his head. “No,” he said. “But the answers you seek are more readily answered behind this door.”

“A-alright…?” Stan said, stepping forward. What? How did the man know? Again, what?

Brother Warden trotted back past him, away from the door and back down the hall where they’d come from. He shot Stan a bland look as he passed.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not crazy,” he said. “I traded my emotions for telepathy a few years ago.” He continued further down the hall, muttering, “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

Stan watched him go, bewilderment etched onto his face.

The old man was joking, right?  
In answer, Brother Warden stopped, and shot Stan a withering look over his shoulder.

Okay. Weirdness. Right. This is why he’d never understood Ford’s obsession with the damned cult life.

Stan turned to the door, pushing at the heavy wood. Anyway.

The scene that opened up before him was less a downright panic, and more organised chaos; a great fire raged in the centre of the room, with smaller ones puttering around in different corners and clinging stubbornly to the heavy ornate curtains hanging from the ceiling. Even the generous stairs leading down into the room were left charred and blackened.

Of what Stan could see, it seemed that there used to be a complex summoning circle in the middle of it all, and it’d kind of… exploded.

People in dark robes whisked about the room, some with hoods stuck stubbornly to their heads and others - mostly younger people - discarding the heavy robes in favour of something lighter and more agile. All were either carrying water buckets, or trying to subdue the fires with cloth and sand and generally anything they could get their hands on. A few robed figures huddled in the corner, discussing something fervently; those were decorated with jewels and heavy golden jewellery. Stan guessed they were the leaders of this disastrous mess.

He just stood for a while, observing the mayhem in the hall and trying to figure out exactly what had happened.

“Oi!”

Someone was shouting as him, and Stan’d head whipped around trying to find the voice.

“Oi, you there! By the doors!” 

The voice was coming from a disgruntled man - a boy, really - down in the middle of the room. He noticed Stan looking, and got even more annoyed.

“Yes, you, with the funny nose,” the boy called. “What are you doing here?”

The shouting had drawn the attention of everyone else in the hall, and all activity stopped, heads turning to watch Stan and the boy. The only sound left was the soft crackling of fires.

Stan looked around, drawing himself up and hoping his voice would project. “I’m looking for the Librarian.”

He could see faces shutter and close off immediately. Curiosity turned into secrecy, and downright hostility from the young man who’d called at him.

“How dare yo--” he began, taking a step forward.

“Stop it, Robbie,” a red haired woman interrupted, stepping in front of him. Robbie drew up and sneered, but the young woman continued, gesturing at Stan. “Don’t you know who this is?”

Stan saw realisation dawn on the boy, and the others in the room continued to look at him. Some understood almost immediately, others needed hasty whispers from their neighbours to fully comprehend. The entire hall was arrested mid-motion. It felt a little surreal.

From the back, a tall man in a black robed weighed down with gold pushed through the crowd.

“Get back to work,” he shouted as he went. “Don’t dawdle like children, put out the fires!”

Activity resumed in a flurry, Stan momentarily forgotten on the steps. The man in gold approached him, and Stan could see that he was relatively young, bald, with an eye tattooed on his forehead. The man wasn’t happy.

He stepped into Stan’s space, eyeing him up and down before sneering, like Stan had failed some secret test. The man stepped back, and jerked his head towards the hallway outside the door in a silent command to follow.

Stan didn’t say a word, somewhat entranced by the man’s authority. He wondered what Susan would think of him - probably call him a bloody meddling Brother, and leave it at that. Stan smirked.

“Something funny?” the man said.

Stan shook his head, blanking his expression, and followed the man outside.

As soon as the doors swung more-or-less shut behind them, the man whirled around and snapped, “So? What do you want?”

Stan was taken aback. “Sorry?”

“You come to us unannounced, when we are troubled and disorganised? Don’t play games,” said the man. “I know quite well that you are not Stanford Pines, the great Brother of this organisation.” He sneered at Stan, his nose wrinkling. “You _stink_ of illiteracy.”

Stan growled. “Excuse you?”  
This skeleton man was begging for a thumping.

The man stepped back, throwing off his hood and clasping his hands behind his back. “I am the Grandmaster of this sect, as was your brother before me. Our Brotherhood owes your bloodline a debt, which I am adamant to repay.” His eyes narrowed. “Which is why I ask you again, Pretender Pines, _what do you want?_ ”

This was turning out a little more dramatic than he’d expected. Anger seethed at the edges, but he pulled it back. No point starting a fight now; he needed these people. He needed their knowledge.  
Drat.

“First,” he started, with acidic clarity. “I am not a ‘pretender’ - I’m Stanley, Ford’s twin--”

“Of course I knew that,” the Grandmaster sniffed.

“--Sure, hun. Anyway,” Stan continued. “Second, I came to find the Librarian. McGucket, I believe his name was?”

The Grandmaster considered this, picking it over, his face puckered in distaste as if he’d sucked a lemon.

“McGucket is insane,” he said finally. “What dealings would you have with him?”

Stan shrugged, eyes narrowing. He said, slowly, “That’s between me, my brother, and McGucket.”

He could see the Grandmaster struggling to ignore that little show of disrespect. Skeleton man with a stick up his arse, used to people bowing and scraping. Typical.

Instead, the Grandmaster latched onto something else:  
“Your brother?” His eyebrow rose. “You mean to say he’s alive?”

Wait, what? The tone of the conversation changed suddenly. Stanford bit his lip. Did he mean to let that out? Wait, they thought he was dead?

“He… he was never dead…?” he tried.

The Grandmaster stared at him as if Stan had grown another head.  
Finally, he said, “But… he vanished?”

Stan nodded. “Yes. But he didn’t die.” He looked at the man straight in the eye, frowning. “He was taken.”

 

The Library he took care of spanned an entire floor of the Brotherhood’s complex; an endless, cavernous maze of dilapidated wooden shelves and dust-clotted manuscripts perpetually plunged into twilight.

Stan walked in with bated breath. It felt… dead, somehow. Forgotten and misused. The entire place was like a dark sea, hiding something out of sight. His footsteps echoed.

The Grandmaster, after Stan’s brief revelation about Ford and his disappearance thirty years ago, had donned a look of distant horror and hurried back into the great hall, shutting the doors behind him. It freaked Stan out a little, and he just stood there for a minute, wondering if he’d been dismissed, or if he should wait…?

The doors opened again soon, and two people - just kids, by the look of them - walked up to him, bowing curtly.  
The girl spoke first, smiling: “Hi, I’m Gwendolyn, call me Wendy. The Grandmaster instructed us to take you to the Library…?”

Stan nodded his head. “Uh, yes?”

Wendy bit her lip. “Right. Well. Let’s go?”

Stan nodded. Right. A little bit awkward. This isn’t how he’d pictured it going.

The sullen man beside Wendy sniffed, and she gasped, shooting him an apologetic look.

“Right! Sorry,” she said. “This is Robbie.”

Stan gave the young man a half-hearted wave. It was the same guy who’d snapped at him for dawdling at the very start. Awkward.

Wendy, with a forced grin, waved them down the hallway, and all three set off down into the gloom. The sounds of the great hall grew distant until even the worried shouts for water and whatnot disappeared under the silence of the mountain.

Their footsteps scuffed along the ground, their shadows shrinking under the periodic lamps along the wall and then lengthening again, vanishing into the dark.

Stan cleared his throat to break the heavy silence. “You guys seem pretty easy on seeing strangers down here?” he said, looking at Wendy.

She shrugged, her expression a little dazed. “We’ve had a… strange couple of days. Really. Even for a secret cult--”

“Wendy!” hissed Robbie, shooting Stan suspicious glares.

“--What? I’m just being honest.” 

“Uh,” said Stan. “Strange?”

Wendy hummed, walking ahead. “Yeah. Don’t think I can tell you anything though.”

“Okay,” Stan mumbled, and stopped talking.

The silence grew heavy once more. Stan shivered. Was it getting colder?

Wendy shot him a glance, and Stan caught it out of the corner of his eye. He hummed out a question. Wendy bit her lip, considering.

“You’re a Pines, yeah?” she said at last.

Stan shrugged. “It’s my name.”

“So… would you know about any other Pines’?” she said carefully.

Stan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like, family.”

“Oh,” said Stan. “Yes, well. I had - have - a twin brother. And a grandniece and nephew - they’re also Pines’. Why?”

Wendy looked at him, assessing. Her feet continued down the hall, and Stan wondered how she managed not to trip.

“Would you know a Dipper Pines?” she said.

Stan’s face lit up. “Yeah! That’s my grandnephew.” He stopped. “It’s why I’m… here, actually…” Wait. How did…? Did she know something? He frowned, slowing down. What was going on?

Wendy kept walking, chewing on her lip. “Interesting,” she mumbled, not noticing Stan’s deepening frown.

The rest of the walk passed in silence. Stan kept shooting Wendy curious glances, a pit of dread welling up in his gut, but she didn’t acknowledge him or say anything about it. He tried to push it out of his mind, and, to be honest? It went easily. He knew Dipper was connected with the Brotherhood - really, kid thought he was being so secretive, but his Grunkle wasn’t blind - and although Stan didn’t know what caused Dipper’s vanishing act, he could put two and two together. Brotherhood? Demons? Dipper suddenly appearing in Gehenna? It wasn’t difficult.  
But still, the curiosity gnawed.  
And why was the great hall destroyed anyway?

 

The library opened up in front of them like a hungry maw, yawning with rotting shelves and dangerous peaks of forgotten scrolls. 

Wendy pushed the doors open gingerly, sniffing. “Here you go. One library, just as ordered.”

Stan stepped forward, his nose wrinkling at the musty smell. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Wendy, sounding as if she wasn’t breathing. Probably wasn’t. It stank.

“How old _is_ this place?” Stan said, stepping over dust bunnies the size of his fist. The maze stretched on before him, disappearing into the murk. He looked back to Wendy, who’d gotten a torch off the wall and was about to follow him.

“Can’t we stay here?” Robbie said, so quietly that Stan almost missed it.

“No, he’ll get lost,” said Wendy. “Then what would the Grandmaster say?”

Robbie clicked his tongue in annoyance, shuffling after her. His foot sunk into a mushy pile of dust, and he sighed through gritted teeth. “I fucking hate libraries.”

Wendy sighed, quietly: “How you ever became a Brother is beyond me.”

“Hey!”

The two bickered behind him as Stan made his way through, his hand running along the bookshelves as if there were directions leading him on there.  
There was something… familiar here. Not in the sense that he’d been here, or seen this place somewhere, because he’d never stepped foot inside the Mountain before today. No, this place felt… warm. Familial. Flickering with impressions, with after-tastes of something recognisable, something almost- tangible. Power imprints his half-starved Nullifier core had missed for almost three decades.

Ford had been here. Stan could _feel it._

McGucket sat almost buried in a teetering mountain of scrolls. His face, weathered and wrinkled, was drawn in a frown which encompassed everything from his spidery white brows to his great hooked nose. He looked almost like a witch, but Stan had seen those in the flesh, so the comparison fell flat.

McGucket didn’t see them, or notice them approaching at all.

Stan cleared his throat. “Uh, Fiddleford McGucket?” When the man didn’t even twitch, Stan tried again: “McGucket?”

Behind him, Robbie sniffed. “The old man’s batshit crazy, he’s not gonna answer--OOF!”

Wendy elbowed him hard in the ribs with a hissed, “Manners!”

Stan walked closer, crouching down to make himself small and less threatening.  
“Brother McGucket?”

That seemed to grab his attention.  
His head turned around, eyes swinging wildly as they tried to focus. They landed on Stan’s face, and for a long moment nothing happened. Then, McGucket’s expression bloomed into unrestrained wonder.

“F-Ford?” he whispered, and Stan’s heart clenched in his chest.

Stan shook his head gently. “No. I’m Stanley. Ford’s brother.”

McGucket’s head cocked. “Brother Ford?”

“No, Ford’s brother.”

McGucket stared at him for a long while, chewing his lip. Finally, he grinned. “Stanley?”

Stan smiled, taking McGucket’s frail hand in his. “Yes. Stanley.”

Behind them, Wendy and Robbie were silent.

Stan sat down, right into the mess of scattered papers and dust motes, never breaking eye contact with McGucket. He reached over gently, palms up, like he would out in the woods with an injured animal caught in a bramble, and took McGucket’s knobbled hands in his, squeezing them gently in greeting.

“McGucket?” Stan said softly. “We need help.” He swallowed, shifting a little closer. “My nephew - a lot like Ford, he is - he was taken.” McGucket looked up into his eyes, and Stan continued: “We need to know how to find him in Gehenna.”

The word made McGucket’s hands tighten in Stan’s grip, digging into his lap.

“Bad place,” he said.

Stan leaned closer. “We-- we need to know more, McGucket. Demons, maps, locations - anything, please.”

McGucket shook his head, mumbling, “Bad place, very bad, bad place.”

Stan growled. “Please--”

“He won’t help you.” 

Stan dropped McGucket’s hands and turned around, to where Robbie stood leaning against a bookshelf. The kid looked pained, somehow.

“He won’t help you,” Robbie repeated. “He can’t. He’s crazy.”

Stan turned back to McGucket, looking the old man in the eye. “He has to,” he said. “Ford said to trust him.” Stan swallowed. “He’s the only one who knows about this.”

Robbie scoffed, his feet scuffling on the floor. “Yeah, we know he knows about it.”

Stan stopped. “What?”

“We know he knows more about the demon realm than all of us,” Robbie said. The irritation in his voice was clear: “He just won’t tell us about it. He can’t. He saw hell and lost his mind. He’s crazy.”

Stan was still facing McGucket, so he wasn’t sure if Wendy had shushed Robbie softly and hissed something along the lines of ‘now who’s giving away Brotherhood secrets?’, but the gears were spinning in his head.

He took McGucket’s hands up again, leaning in until he had the man’s full attention. “Crazy, huh…” He bit his lip. “Well, I’ve dealt with crazy before.”

Robbie snickered. “Not with his kind, I bet.”

Stan spoke to Robbie without turning around. “There was a woman, once, in England,” he said, his thumb gently stroking the wrinkled skin of McGucket’s hand. “Who wanted her sister out of Bedlam. She paid generously too.” He sniffed. “The sister was all kinds of paranoid and weird, but we all wanted the money badly enough to learn something about dealing with the mentally feeble.”

He waited until the silence grew uncomfortable, and Robbie was forced to ask, in a subdued voice, to continue the conversation: “And what was that?”

“You just need to be kind,” said Stan. “Just like you would with anyone. Isn’t that right, Brother McGucket?”

McGucket grinned. “Very right, Brother of Ford. Very right.”

Stan heard Robbie and Wendy shifting in surprise. 

Stan let go of McGucket’s hands and reached into his coat, pulling out the second thing Susan had thrust into his hands before pushing him out the door. The crumbled map of known Gehenna was small and yellowed in his large hands, but he unrolled it as best as he could.

“Hey, you two, come over and shine some light for an old man,” he called, waving the two closer. Robbie came with a barely-concealed grumble, but the light of his little torch illuminated the map clearly.

Stan showed it to McGucket, trying to read into the old man’s shuttered expression.  
“Do you know this?” he asked, his voice a hopeful whisper.

The silence stretched tense before them, curling into the pressing dark of the forgotten library. Robbie was getting antsy beside him, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

Finally, McGucket nodded. “Yes.”

Wendy swallowed her gasp.

“Bad place,” said McGucket.

“I know, I know,” said Stan. “But what else?”

McGucket looked up at him and chewed his lip. “Lost someone?”

Stan nodded. “Yes. My nephew.”

“McGucket lost someone too,” said the hermit, sighing. “Bad place, bad place, taken by the triangle man to the bad place.”

“The triangle man?” said Stan, frowning. He turned to Wendy and Robbie for an explanation, but the two were just as confused as he was.

“Triangle man, triangle man,” McGucket said, flapping his hands. “Yellow, yellow, one-eyed triangle man.”

“What does that mean?” Stan said.

McGucket shook his head. “Triangle man, yellow triangle man. Bad place, bad, bad place.”

“McGucket, what does ‘the triangle man’ mean?” Stan repeated. His hands were twitching too, impatient and worried.

McGucket jumped up, startling Stan so badly he toppled over onto the dusty floor. Behind him, Wendy and Robbie screeched and shuffled back, the movement making the torch light swing wildly around the room.

“Bad place! Bad place!” McGucket was shouting, his feet tapping away at the floor. “Bad place bad place bad place!”

Stan scrambled to sit back up again, his hands up around his head in a placating gesture. 

“Okay! Okay, bad place, it’s a bad place, McGucket!” he said, rising up onto his feet slowly. McGucket had stopped jittering, but his hands were shaking badly where he held them up against his chest.

“Bad place,” Stan repeated softly. “I’ll stop asking now.”

McGucket muttered the words over and over again to himself, lost in his head. Stan stepped over, slowly, inching his hands forward until they were resting over McGucket’s. The hermit was shivering, looking around as if his nightmare was going to jump out of the dark. 

“McGucket?” Stan whispered.

McGucket’s eyes darted towards his face before dropping back down again, sweeping left and right around the room.

“McGucket,” Stan repeated, gently squeezing the old man’s hands. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Is that okay?”

He let go of McGucket’s hands, and the man pulled him into his chest, rubbing them until his joints cracked.

“Bad place,” he whispered.

Stan raised his own hands back up, shuffling back slowly. “Tomorrow, Brother McGucket.”

Wendy and Robbie threw him a quick look, before they back away too, watching McGucket like a simmering fuse. The old man shuffled around his little pile of papers, a lonely lamp burning somewhere behind it all, and sat down into it, his hands around his knees.

Stan stopped to watch him, for a while; McGucket looked so lonely.

“Is he going to be okay?” he asked. Sure, he was a scoundrel and a cheat and a liar, but Stanley knew how to care.

“Yeah,” said Wendy. “He’s here alone all the time.” She didn’t sound sure though.

“He’ll be okay until tomorrow,” Robbie said.

“Alright,” said Stan, and turned on his heel, walking towards the library’s far-off doors.

Silence swallowed them again, interrupted by scuffling boots on loose papers and the crackle of the torch. Stan stared straight ahead, his mind whirring with questions and troubles.

At the door, Wendy and Robbie let him go without a word. Somehow, Brother Warden was already there, waiting to take him back up and out of the mountain. His earlier words came back. Huh. Maybe Stan could trade something for omnipotence.

Brother Warden sniffed. “You wouldn’t have anything of worth to trade.”

Stan flinched back in surprise, before snorting in derision.

“You never know until you try,” he said.

“I know anyway,” said Brother Warden.

Robbie and Wendy looked at the two of them like they’d grown extra heads.

 

Stan came back the next day, and talked to McGucket for almost an hour. The old man seemed more relaxed, but Stan steered clear of discussing the triangle man nonetheless. Sometimes McGucket would just stop in the middle of a stuttering, difficult sentence, look at Stan, and whisper, “Ford?”. His heart would be breaking, but he’d correct McGucket gently, ignoring the disappointment his words caused and soldering on.  
He learned more, in a roundabout way, about Gehenna, carefully adding new information onto the map scroll. It was a struggle trying to ask about things without causing McGucket pain, and Stan wished that Mabel was here. God, she knew more about people than he did. Sure, Stan could lie and cheat like it was second nature, but kindness? Empathy? That was all Mabel. She would’ve managed to get so much more done.

But Mabel was working on the portal spell, and that was more important than Stan’s rusty people skills.

As he was leaving on the second day - still without a clue about the demon who took Dipper, the triangle man, or the odds they could be facing - Robbie caught his arm and stared at him.

“How can you just be okay with that little information?” he said, gritting his teeth. “Doesn’t it frustrate you?”

Stan snorted. “You young kids are all impatience, but us old men should forgive you that,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “See you tomorrow kid.” He raised his voice, shouting into the room. “See you tomorrow, Brother McGucket!”

The third day, he was luckier:  
His map was dotted with information McGucket gave him, with some places just marked with X’s and some with names, exact locations, identifying landmarks and histories to go with it all. The old man told Stan, in a meandering, stuttering way, about the apparent civil war - Stan wasn’t sure, ‘cause McGucket would just refer to is as ‘the big divide’ - which was started by the species Stan knew were demons against the second sentient species of Gehenna, to which McGucket referred to as ‘undemons’. That didn’t sound like a real thing, but Stan was really working with everything he could get here, so he glossed that over and surged on. 

“So, uh, these ‘undemons’ - what are they like?” he said, sitting cross-legged and penning all of this in under the dwindling lamplight.

“Big people,” said McGucket. “Two hearts, not fighting a lot.”

“Uhuh…” Stan jotted in, ‘Not aggressive’. “And would they be willing to help us find Dipper?”

“No friends, not fighting a lot and no friends,” said McGucket.

‘No help’ wrote Stan. “Okay, then, uh…” He looked over his notes. 

The undemons, McGucket said, lived on the other side of Gehenna and wouldn’t touch them. If they used a transportation spell, they could land anywhere near the magnetic pole, which Susan said corresponded to Earth’s… or? God, Stan didn’t know, this was too much. Okay. Magnetic pole: McGucket said something about a “metal pulling” spot and an “attractive” place, and while Stan was banking on the first one to be the correct thing, he put the second one in anyway. They were in different places, but both were outside of the “misty wall” McGucket was worried about, and both were relatively close to what Stan assumed was the demon’s capital? A town? McGucket refused to talk about it, only saying there was a “big stony house” and you know, Stan was really suspecting that McGucket never sold his sanity in the first place. How could you sell your sanity? And what was that damn story Dipper tried telling him all the time? The one about Cassandra and Greece? And how she could never get people to believe her even if she could see the future. 

“Stan?”

He was so into his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice how, for the first time since they started talking, McGucket used his name. It shot through him suddenly, and he sat up straight, staring.

McGucket looked at him with a little frown, one corner of his lips tucked inconspicuously upwards.

“I hope you find Dipper,” whispered McGucket. “And I hope you find Ford.”

Stan stared dumbly at him for a while after that, before shaking his head, thanking him quietly and going back to asking questions. McGucket’s eyes closed, and when the opened, that little glimmer of clearness was gone. Stan knew it was there though, shining under the weight of jumbled grammar and misplaced nouns, as brilliant as befitting a Brother.

 

Wendy and Robbie were waiting for him outside of the Library doors, as they’d done for the last two days. The darkness scared them, he thought, but they were only young twenty-somethings and that was alright. He wondered how they’d coped, in this mountain full of harsh scholars and heavy secrets.

Damn.

Just being here was making him all philosophical and gross. Mabel would be proud.

He nodded to them, securing the straps of his carrier bag and starting to walk.

They passed through the halls in silence, with Stan mulling over what he learned today and deciding on how he’d lay it out for the Witches.  
Just as they were reaching the entrance hall, Robbie grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.  
Stan yelped, whirling around and getting Robbie’s hand in a grip before the boy knew it was coming. Robbie jerked back, and Stan let go in shock, both of them staring at each other for a few long, tense seconds.

“S-sorry,” Stan stammered out at last, shifting and wiping his hands on his coat. “Old habits, and all that.”

“R-Right,” said Robbie, frowning. He coughed. “Anyway, uh…”

“Yeah?” said Stan.

Wendy stepped out, gesturing at them. “We, um.” She clenched her fists and stood a little straighter. “We want to help. With whatever it is you’re doing for Dipper.”

Stan’s eyebrows rose. “Help?”

Robbie nodded, looking at Wendy for support. “Yeah. If-if you need anything, tell us.”

Stan swallowed. “Okay.”

The two nodded self-consciously, staring at the ground and shuffling. Stan licked his lips and swallowed a smile, only nodding gratefully in return. They gestured for him to continue walking, and he stepped out into the entrance hall, Brother Warden gliding out of the shadows to open the vault-like doors for him. Stan nodded to him too, hefting his bag up again and taking a deep lungful of the cold mountain air.

Before, leaving though, he turned, fixing Wendy and Robbie with a thoughtful look.

“Why do you want to help?” he said.

The two were equally startled by his question, shuffling on their feet. He was expecting Wendy to answer, but it was Robbie who spoke up with stunted, honest words:

“Dipper was… good,” he said, licking his lips. “If we were half a decade younger, I would’ve hated him. But he is good.”

Stan nodded, pressing his lips together in a tight smile. There was a small, glowing warmth in his chest, and suddenly he was so happy for his poor, smart, innocent nephew that he wanted to cry. 

No matter how many times people said that it was Mabel with the magnetic personality, Dipper had always had the ability to win people’s respect. Stan was instantly, overwhelmingly grateful for this little quirk, which meant that Dipper wasn’t alone. Stan would’ve given anything to have this much support at his own awful, stuttering start in life, and he thanked God that Dipper didn’t have to face his troubles on his own. 

He curled his hands into fists. They’re gonna get Dipper out of this. They were gonna go to damn Gehenna, get Dipper - get _Ford_ , at last - and seal that damn place up tighter than a clam’s ass at high tide. Yes, Stan decided. No more damn feckin demons messing with _his_ family.

“...Master Pines?” said Wendy, interrupting Stan’s mental tirade.

“What?” he said. “Oh, yes. Wendy, Robbie-” The two looked up, wary and hopeful. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” said Wendy.

Stan turned around, nodding to them both. “I’ll call as soon as I have news.”

Both of them brightened at that, grinning. 

Stan nodded to Brother Warden, who was - inexplicably - smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Brother Warden. “I just - as clever as the demons were about sealing knowledge of their world from my sight - something tells me that you’re going to succeed.”

Stan blinked, registering the words, and then a small, satisfied smile broke over his face. “I hope so.”

He stepped towards the open gates, through which the cold night air seeped in like water, pulling up his coat collar against the chill. Wendy and Robbie had waved and retreated back into the bowels of the Brotherhood’s headquarters, murmuring to each other. The night was full of scattered stars, lit by the bright full moon that hung like a glowing lamp over the forest and the small town below. Stan looked over it all, stepping out and away from the great gates hiding the headquarters with a spring in his step and something like hope in his gut.

From behind, just as the gates rang shut, Brother Warden rasped out; “Remember; our enemies were once us too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all im just gonna drop these chapters on ya from time to time bc my life is a mess and i firmly believe in reflecting reality in my works aswell ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
